


Escape From Purgatory

by pat_t



Category: Highlander: The Series, Supernatural
Genre: Crossover, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-05
Updated: 2012-01-05
Packaged: 2017-10-29 00:36:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/313902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pat_t/pseuds/pat_t
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When demons start wrecking havoc with immortals it's Sam and Dean to the rescue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Escape From Purgatory

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tryfanstone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tryfanstone/gifts).



> This takes place during the timeline of season six in SPN. Castiel is still on the boy's team although he's been absent a bit as he's dealing with the turmoil in heaven. Sam has had his soul returned, but he hasn't started remembering everything he did during the year when he didn't have a soul. Duncan and Methos still live in Seacouver - post season six. A huge thank you to my amazing beta, Tray (elistaire), who always gives me support and encouragement. As always, all mistakes are my own.

Portland, Oregon 2010

It was the time of the morning Linden Daniels loved most, when the dusky gray of predawn enveloped him in a comforting cloak of anonymity and the fine mist of early morning dew clung to his skin in a familiar embrace. He walked with determination through the underground garage, already setting his site on his target, a dark blue sedan, now forlorn and much too obvious in the nearly deserted garage.

He sped up his steps, his senses hyper-alert as he breathed in the lingering exhaust fumes remaining in the semi-enclosed area, well aware that the shadows that concealed him concealed approaching danger as well. Pausing as he neared his car, he hesitated and turned slowly, his senses confirming a lack of immortal presence, a fact that would normally reassure and comfort him. After all, there was very little an immortal had to fear outside another immortal coming after his head.

But not tonight.

For the past week he had been experiencing a sense of approaching doom, a dark and foreboding evil that hovered just out of reach, a feeling of malicious laughter when he tried to reach out with his immortal senses to pinpoint its direction and level of danger. Tonight the feeling was stronger, the evil a heaviness pressing down on his chest, the laughter a harsh whisper in his ears, the first time actually heard instead of just felt.

He continued to slowly turn, surveying the area as he reached inside his coat and wrapped his hand around the hilt of his sword. His body was already dumping adrenaline into his blood stream, preparing him for fight or flight, when he suddenly and inexplicability found himself paralyzed with fear.

Suddenly, a vague, shapeless black fog appeared in front of him. His mind was screaming inside his head to pull his sword, to fight for his life, to move--dammit--and get the hell out of there. But his body was stubbornly refusing to move, his legs firmly planted in place, his arms immobile as he continued to grip the hilt of his sword in a now meaningless gesture. Then a large, translucent blade was coming toward his neck, the hiss of disrupted air the only warning he had before his world went black.

~~~~~~

Doug Jones kneeled behind a white SUV, sweat running down his face despite the chill of the early morning air, absently rubbing the inside of his tattoo covered wrist against his jeans as his immortal subject entered the garage. He was fortunate that Daniels kept to the same routine every week; therefore, he could anticipate his comings and goings instead of following him everywhere he went.

He didn’t watch everything the man did anyway. Most Watchers didn’t watch their subjects that closely. The important thing to note was who their friends and contacts were as that usually led to the identification of other immortals in the area. The one thing a Watcher never wanted to miss was a challenge. Not witnessing your immortal losing his head was an unforgivable faux pas. Therefore, he always arranged to position himself in the areas where another immortal might find his subject alone and vulnerable and issue a challenge.

He had been waiting behind the SUV less than an hour when his immortal had arrived just as he suspected he would. Admittedly, he was becoming worried as he waited, alone and exposed, in the underground garage. He was pretty sure Daniels would stay with his routine, but the man had been acting strangely the past week, seemingly more agitated, often stopping to survey the area, his eyes darting around nervously when Jones could see nothing amiss. He had checked the Watcher files, called in a few favors, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary with other long life-lines in the area. So, why was his immortal acting so strangely?

Daniels was walking swiftly toward his car, his coat flapping against his legs as he made a mad dash to the vehicle. Grimly, Jones wondered if he was about to see a challenge, and reached inside his pocket to bring out his iPhone just in case. They weren’t supposed to record immortal challenges, but what was the harm? He would be able to file a more detailed and accurate report if he had it recorded. And he could always delete it later.

He waited expectantly as his subject stopped and turned, his hand disappearing inside his coat for his sword. Jones held his breath, fearful his subject would hear his labored breathing, the pounding of his heart which was now sending blood rushing to his ears. His palm was sweaty as it wrapped around his phone and he decided to leave it off as it suddenly occurred to him that a ringing phone could be a death warrant if an immortal discovered his presence.

Curiously, he peeped around the bumper of the SUV he was using for cover. What was Daniels doing? Why was he just standing there immobile, his hand still concealed in his coat? Was there another immortal in the garage or had Daniels sensed his presence? Ducking back behind the vehicle, he let out his breath slowly and willed himself to relax. With any luck Daniels would just get in his car and drive home. Then Jones could go home himself, write up the day’s report and go to bed.

He took in deep breaths, slowly in and out, waited a beat and another. He risked another look, now more curious than concerned as he noticed the other man had still not moved. He could only see Daniels from the back, but there definitely did not seem to be anyone else in the parking garage as far as he could tell. What the hell was going on for pity sake? Jones was cold and his knees were hurting from the pressure of the cement flooring of the garage. Come on, Daniels, get in your damn car already.

Suddenly, Daniels toppled over, crumpling to the ground in an ungraceful heap. Seriously, what the fuck? Jones stood up slowly and looked around. Nothing in the garage moved save himself, his own breaths overloud in the stale air. So why would an immortal suddenly fall to the ground without reason? Jones didn’t know for sure, but the man appeared quite dead even from the distance he was standing. He didn’t dare venture closer, however, as the immortal could awaken any moment.

Minutes dragged on and still the man had not moved. Telling himself he could convince Daniels he was just a concerned bystander, he moved cautiously toward his immortal’s body and nudged him with a foot. Nothing.

He leaned over and peered at the man’s face, his features frozen in death, his eyes open wide with seeming fright. Squatting, he reached over to close the man’s eyes, the look on his face chilling the Watcher to the bone as the actual incongruity of the immortal’s death sunk in.

He stood, shivering as a cold wind swept across him, then froze, stunned as a shimmering ball of light lifted from Daniel’s body, hovered for a few seconds and then vanished. Then, he watched, shocked with disbelief, as the immortal aged into an old man right before his eyes.

~~~~~~

Seacouver, Washington

Joe Dawson settled back in his office chair, unmindful of the squeaking frame as it adjusted to his shifting weight. He scratched his beard, scowling as he read Doug Jones’ newest entry on his immortal, Linden Daniels.

This wasn’t the first time an immortal was found dead, his head still attached to his aging body, incredible as that sounded. It was the third such incident this month. But it was the first time it had been witnessed by a Watcher.

Joe had seen a lot of things in his life. Many of them had happened in Viet Nam when he was a marine -- strange things, events that couldn’t be explained scientifically. Hell, look at immortals. Who would believe such a race could exist? Therefore, very little shocked him. Even less frightened him. More than anything he was intrigued and he loved a good mystery. Begrudgingly, he also admitted he was worried about his immortal friends.

Thumbing through his personal phone book, he picked up the phone and dialed a number.

Two rings and he heard a gruff voice come over the line. “Yeah?”

Joe smiled, aware age has roughened his own tones as he answered the terse response. “Singer, you old heathen. It’s Joe. Dawson.”

“Dawson? Man, how ya been?” A pause. “What’s wrong?”

“Does something have to be wrong for me to call you?”

“Yeah. Usually.”

Joe sat forward and ran his fingers through his now solid white hair, his good humor already dissipating as he skimmed over a section of Jones’ report.

“You’re right, buddy. Something’s wrong and I think it’s in your field of expertise.”

Ignoring the answering snort that followed that declaration, he briefly explained the situation, waiting patiently while the other man silently mulled the information over in his head.

“Yeah, I’d say you’re right. I haven’t kept up with Immortals. I figured you had that covered. But, if my memory serves me, and it usually does, what you’re describing can only be the result of unnatural forces. Do you remember John Winchester?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Look, John’s dead, but his boys, Dean and Sam, are good hunters. I’ll do some research on my end, but I want to send the boys there and see what they can dig up.”

“Do they know about Immortals?”

“They will now. I’ll call you when I know something, Dawson.”

“Fair enough. Thanks, buddy. I’ll look for the guys when they arrive. They know to keep this under their hats, though?”

“Hey, don’t insult my ass unless you want me to show up instead of the boys.”

Joe chuckled and reached for the bottle of whiskey sitting open on his desk. “Anytime. I can still drink your ass under the table.”

“That’s not how I remember it,” Bobby grumbled good-naturedly. “Look, let me give them a call. I’ll let you know when I find out something.”

Joe hung up the phone and refilled his glass with the amber liquid. He took a swallow, relishing the burn as it slid down his throat and settled in his stomach. Putting the glass down, he reached for the phone. Mac needed to know what was going on. Some evil, unnatural son of a bitch might be killing immortals, but it wasn’t going to get his immortal. Not on Joe Dawson’s watch.

~~~~~~

Reno, Nevada

“You’re shitting me, right?”

Sam Winchester looked up from his laptop screen and raised a brow at his brother’s incredulous tone. If Dean’s smirk was any indication, and it usually was, they were in for a hell of a case. Might as well relax and wait, though. As soon as Dean got off the phone with Bobby he’d find out what was going on.

“Of course we’ll get on the case. Yeah, thanks, Bobby.”

Dean clicked off his cell, his smirk now replaced with a concerned frown, and turned to his brother.

“What is it?”

“Sammy, you’re not going to believe this.”

“Come on, Dean. After everything we’ve been through, do you really think anything could surprise me?”

“I don’t know. This might.” Dean slid his cell phone into his shirt pocket and sat down on the end of the bed to face Sam. “It seems Bobby’s been holding out on us. There’s a race of people known as immortals on the planet.”

“Immortals?”

“Yeah, hey, you want a beer?”

“Sure.”

Waiting until Dean returned from the mini-fridge with two beers, Sam reached for one and stood up to stretch while his brother plopped back on the bed inelegantly.

“Immortals? Like in people who can’t die, immortal?”

Dean looked up and smiled. “Evidently. They’ve been around for thousands of years. They can’t die unless someone takes their head.”

“Takes their head?”

“Is there some reason you’re repeating everything I say, Sam? Yeah, you know, whacks their head off with something sharp.”

“Dean, why would anyone want to cut off their heads?”

“Not just anyone. Other immortals. According to Bobby it releases something called the quickening which contains all their knowledge and power. The other immortal, the one who took the head gets the dead immortal’s quickening.”

“How does Bobby know all this? Stop being a jerk, dude. Just tell me what’s going on, okay.”

“Bobby has a friend who watches these so-called immortals. His friend is a Watcher. He documents the battles between the immortals. The reason he called Bobby is that something weird has started happening. Three immortals have died this month without losing their heads.”

“How did they die then?”

“That’s just it. No one knows. They shouldn’t be able to die with their heads still attached. What’s even stranger is that after they died, the immortals suddenly aged into very old men.”

“Wait, Dean. I’m not getting this. Wouldn’t they be aging anyway?”

“Look, it’s a long story. We need to pack up and hit the road. I’ll explain the rest on the way.”

Sam closed his laptop and slid it into his book bag. Packing wouldn’t take long. They never completely settled in when they reached a town. A few minutes later they were loading the Impala and heading toward Washington State.

~~~~~~

Dean checked the rearview mirror and changed lanes. Sammy had been awfully quiet since he had explained the situation. He couldn’t help but wonder where his brother’s thoughts had gone. Unfortunately, Sam hadn’t exactly been forthcoming with his thoughts or his feelings ever since he began remembering the year after he returned without his soul. Not that Dean was in for the touchy, feely stuff. And it wasn’t like he was exactly comfortable telling Sam his thoughts either. But, damn it, they were supposed to be rebuilding the trust between them and that was never going to happen unless one of them gave in.

Sighing mentally, he glanced over at Sam. “Any theories?”

“What? No. Just thinking about everything you told me. Immortals. Man. Can you imagine what we could do if we couldn’t be killed? If we didn’t age after our first death?”

“Beheading, Sam. Remember that? Do you really think the demons wouldn’t know that?”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. But, no. No theories.”

“Me either. Might as well sit back and rest. We’ll be driving all night.” Yeah, Dean thought, it was going to be a long drive.

~~~~~~

They pulled into the motel parking lot early the next morning. Getting a room was no problem since they normally stopped at the less expensive motels in the area. After all, they only needed a couple of beds, a table and chair or two, a mini fridge for the beer and a television with pay-for- view. A few minutes later they were unpacked and setting up the laptop.

Dean pulled out his cell phone. “I guess I’d better call Bobby and see if he’s found out anything.”

“Yeah, go ahead. I’m going to check out the local news and see if anything out of the ordinary is going on.”

“I know what’s causing them to age.” The voice was soft and without inflection, and while Dean should have been used to the sudden appearance of the angel, he couldn’t help but jerk in startlement. The fact that Sam seemed amused by his reaction only made him more aggravated.

“Dammit, Cas. Can’t you give us a warning before you pop in?”

“I can tell you about the immortals.”

Sam opened his laptop and plugged it in. “You know about immortals too?”

Dean noted the scowl on Sam’s face, the furrowed brow and crinkled forehead that usually meant he was more than just a little annoyed.

“Does it matter, Sam? What’s eating you anyway?”

“Dean, don’t you think it’s a little weird that Bobby knew about these people, but we didn’t? They aren’t mentioned in dad’s journal either. Now, all of a sudden, everyone but us seems to know about them.”

“No, not really, Sammy. We’re being told about them now. That’s good enough for me. Go on, Cas.”

“Of course, I know about immortals,” Castiel replied while easing into the center of the room. “Immortals have been around before Christ walked the earth.”

“Hang on, Dean. Maybe Bobby ought to be in on this.” Sam picked up his cell and hit the speed dial.

The phone was picked up on the first ring. “You got something already?”

“Not yet. But Cas is here and he might have some information for us. Thought you might want to be kept in the loop. Hang on. I’ll put you on speaker.”

“You thought right. You boys in Seacover yet?”

Dean shot a look at Sam. “We’re here, Bobby. Go ahead, Cas. So, what’s killing them?”

“It’s a legion of very old demons thrown into purgatory thousands of years ago. Their name would hold no meaning to you. For mankind’s limited vocabulary you may think of them as soul takers.”

“Soul takers? As in stealing a person’s soul?” Sam clarified, while turning to this laptop and clicking the webpage to Google.

“Yes, but you won’t find them on that, Sam.” Cas indicated the laptop with a cursory wave of his hand. “They are very old and have been buried for thousands of years in a special hell dimension made especially for them. They are considered undesirable even by demon standards so Lucifer exiled them to another realm away from the general population.”

“Great.” Dean flopped down on the bed. “So the red-headed step-children of hell have decided to come topside. “ Why now and why immortals?”

Dean heard a chortle on the other end of the phone. “Step-children, my ass. More like the evil stepmother. Boys, if what Dawson told me was true, these things are nasty.”

Castiel looked from Dean to Sam questionably. “I don’t understand those references. But somehow they have managed to harvest enough power to escape. There is no way they could have managed it on their own, so they must have had help.”

“Look, Cas. That’s all very interesting, but what are these things and why are they on earth now?”

“As I said, somehow they managed to escape. They’ve always had the ability to steal souls, but over five thousand years ago they found a way to harvest an immortal’s life source. That’s why the immortal is able to die with his head still attached.”

“You mean they can steal an immortal’s quickening?”

“Yes, and without their quickenings or losing their heads, the immortals simply die as if they had never been immortal. What I don’t know is how they managed to escape and why they are going after immortals now. Or why they seem to be focusing their power in this area.”

“More importantly, how do we stop them?” Sam asked worriedly.

Cas looked from one man to the other, hesitating as if gathering his thoughts. Dean felt his stomach sink at the angel’s next words. “You can’t. At least not by yourselves. There are very old rituals that can turn the demons corporal so they can be destroyed, but it is very difficult to do and many of the old writings were destroyed when the demons were sent to purgatory.”

“But it can be done?” Bobby’s voice came over the speaker.

“Yes, but highly unlikely. All of the immortals they have targeted were relatively young and weak. It was easy to break through their defenses and steal their quickenings.  
Only an immortal with a very powerful quickening can withstand their onslaught. And that immortal would have to use all his concentration and power to fight the demons and keep them from breaking apart his life force. Then you would still need someone powerful enough to force them back to hell.”

“Well, that’s just great. Bobby, you catch all that?”

“Yeah, Dean. I got it. Look, you eggheads. Be careful. From what I know it’s not just the demons you have to worry about. Immortals kill one another to stay alive. They’re dangerous and you do not want to piss one off. Stay clear of them as much as possible. Got that?”

“We got it, Bobby. I’ll call you when we know something.” Sam clicked off his cell and slid it back into his pocket.

Dean pulled on his jacket. “How about getting some grub and looking over the town?”

“Yeah, that sounds good.” Sam stood up and stretched, then reached for his jacket. “Cas, you-” He turned to address the angel, unsurprised when he found an empty room. He looked at Dean and shrugged. “Guess not.”

~~~~~~

Duncan handed Joe a glass of whiskey and motioned for him to take a seat. “Might as well get comfortable, Joe. It might be awhile before Methos’ flight gets in from Paris.”

“I thought he was supposed to arrive an hour ago.” Joe sat down in a large overstuffed chair and sipped his drink.

“He was. But you know how it is at the airports. And international flights are never dependable.”

Joe nodded, silently watching his immortal pacing the kitchen area and wondering what the hell was going on. He could understand Mac being upset about the recent events. Hell, one of the men was a good friend. But usually Mac became more focused and emotionally withdrawn when facing a problem, especially when it came to immortal business and a possible upcoming battle.

Briefly, he reflected on the pending arrival of the world’s oldest man. He knew Mac and Methos had been sleeping together when they were in the same city. But, as far as he knew, Methos had left on good terms. At least Joe hoped he had as he suspected they were facing enough trouble without the two men being at one another’s throat.

“Mac, everything okay with you and Methos?”

“Hm? Yeah, why do you ask?”

“Because you seem a bit on edge, buddy? You sure everything is okay?”

Duncan smiled, a bit too grimly Joe thought, and came into the living room area to sit on the couch.

“Everything is fine, Joe. Don’t worry. Fact is, I’m glad he’s coming in. I won’t have to worry about his safety if he’s here.”

“Where you can keep an eye on him, you mean.”

“Touché.”

Joe raised his glass in salute to the rejoinder, and then turned toward the door as he saw Mac still, his muscles tense as he turned toward something only he could feel. The old man had arrived.

The elevator jerked to a stop with a creak and groan, the gate making only a slightly less annoying squeak as it was lifted to allow the entrance of one very old immortal.

Methos strode in with wide purposeful steps, easily scooping his duffle up and tossing it to the kitchen counter in one fluid movement.

Duncan was at Methos’ side almost immediately, wrapping his arms around the other man for a welcoming hug. Joe almost snorted his whiskey when Methos pushed him away and turned toward the living room area with a playful roll of his eyes.

“For Christ’s sake, MacLeod. I just arrived. Give me a minute before you start pawing at me. Hey, Joe.” Methos plopped down on the couch and grinned at Joe impishly while Mac scowled at him from behind.

Duncan tossed Methos’ duffel to the floor and joined them, clearly already annoyed with his friend’s antics as he made a point to sit well out of reach of Methos’ personal space.

“Has it ever occurred to you that I may have been worried about you with everything that’s been going on? Or that I may be happy to see you, you irritating old man?”

Methos closed his eyes and tilted back his head as if in deep thought. “Um, I’m thinking you missed my hot body and you couldn’t wait to jump my bones.” Methos opened his eyes and grinned broadly, winking at Joe while pointedly turning his back to the other man on the couch.

“All right you two,” Joe groused while trying hard not to smile. “Enough of the comedy hour. There’s some serious stuff going on here, and I would think you,” he pointed to Methos with his cane, “would be a bit more concerned.”

“Actually, I’ve already been doing a bit of research.” Methos stood and looked toward the kitchen island for his duffel, scowling at Mac when he spotted it on the floor. A moment later he had it open on the coffee table and pulled out a large, and very old, leather bound journal.

Now with both Joe and Duncan’s complete attention he began to search through the journal to the pages he had annotated in advance. “I think we may be dealing with very old and powerful demons,” he stated matter-of-factly while flipping to another page, removing the bookmark to toss it casually onto the coffee table.

Duncan shifted closer to Methos on the couch and reached out to touch his wrist. “Wait, when I was fighting Ahriman you said you had never witnessed anything to prove demons existed during your lifetime.”

“Well, I was wrong.” Methos sat back, dislodging Duncan’s hand from his wrist, and sighed loudly. “Mac, once it was obvious you were fighting something very real and very dangerous, I decided to probe into some of my old journals a bit more diligently.” He paused and stated more slowly, “I found some things.”

“Such as?” Joe leaned forward in his seat, knowing his impatience was clear in his tone and not caring one little bit.

“Nothing I want to share right now.” Methos shifted on the couch so he was now addressing both men once again. “Look, I still have a lot of reading to do and I have to admit the flight knackered me.” This time he reached out and touched Duncan’s hand. “Sorry, but I do need a bit of down time. And I do have a few more sections I need to sift through.”

Duncan smiled and squeezed his partner’s hand in reassurance. “No problem. The two guys Joe’s friend sent should be here by now. I think I’ll give them a call and see if they know anything.”

A phone call later verified the two hunters were in town and a meeting was arranged. Duncan hung up the phone and turned to Joe. “They’ll meet with us in their motel room. Coming with me?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Joe pushed himself up from the chair, grousing against the pain in his hips and stumps as he shifted to a standing position. He paused by the couch and lightly whacked Methos’ leg with his cane. “You behave while we’re gone.”

“Worried about me, Joe?” Methos looked up innocently and grinned.

“Pain in the ass.”

~~~~~~

Duncan stood off to the side, allowing Joe the only available chair in the sparsely furnished motel room at Seacouver’s not-so-finest motel. He superfluously studied the two hunters knowing already they were young and mortal. According to Joe there were indeed demons – as if he needed convincing after Ahriman–and hunters who did nothing but hunt down and fight them before they could rain down terror on mankind.

He mentally shook his head. He had no reason not to believe Joe’s friend, but how could these two innocuous appearing men fight and kill demons? He continued to listen as he simultaneously scrutinized their appearance. One man was tall and lanky, with longish brown hair, and features open and trusting, as he allowed his brother to carry the conversation.

His brother was shorter, stockier, his features comparatively hard and closed off, as he told them about the demons they believed were plaguing immortals. It sent a chill down Duncan’s spine to hear the two mortals talk about his race, to realize how many mortals not only knew about immortal existence, but also knew how to kill them.

Dean, who was the older of the two, finished his explanation and looked Duncan in the eye, his stare never wavering as he awaited Duncan’s reply. That chilled Duncan even more.

Duncan met the hunter’s gaze without flinching. “You’re telling me that these soul takers have escaped from purgatory and now are hunting immortals to steal their quickenings?”

“That’s exactly what we’re telling you.” This time it was Sam who answered. “Look, man, we don’t know why or how exactly. Hell, we just found out about you guys a couple of days ago. But somehow they have found a way to get to an immortal’s quickening and suck it out.”

“Without taking our head?” He looked incredulously at Joe who appeared deep in thought, a frown deepening the lines in his face as he mulled over the new information.  
“And how do you know this? Exactly?” He put emphasis on the last word, pointedly looking at Dean since he seemed to be in charge.

“We have information. Nothing you need to be concerned about. Just trust us, okay.”

Duncan felt himself rankle at the mortal’s blasé attitude. Joe must have felt the shift in tension in the room because he sat up straighter and held up his hand to halt the coming storm.

“Wait, Mac.” Joe turned toward the two hunters and softened his voice to his most reasonable tone. “No offense, fellas, but I think you better come clean. I don’t know what’s going on, but we don’t need any secrets here. Bobby said we could trust you.”

Sam shifted toward his brother. “I know this is hard. It’s not that we don’t want to tell you everything, but there are some things even we don’t understand. Let’s just say we have a friend who gives us information. Knowing who he is isn’t going to help you. But I promise he’s working on our side.”

Joe shook his head in obvious disbelief. “Of all the fucked up…. Do you really think we’re going to buy that? You boys don’t seem to have a clue what you’re messing with here. Do you not get you’re dealing with a race of people who survived by cutting off each other’s head?”

Dean held his hands up in surrender. “Look, we get it, okay.” He turned toward Duncan. “You’re immortal. You cannot die unless someone like you cuts off your head. Now all of a sudden something has come out of the woodwork that can kill you without taking your head. You can’t see it. You don’t know what it is, but it’s scaring the hell out of you. Now you have two guys who seem to have come out of nowhere who not only knows your secret, but are telling you there are demons chasing your tails.”

Duncan took a deep breath and visibly tried to rein in his temper.

“Look, why don’t we all sit down again and relax, okay.” Joe pointedly looked from one man to the next. “I think the real question is what we’re going to do about this.”

Both Sam and Dean sat down on the end of one of the full size beds. They stayed silent, each man contemplating the problem at hand while the tension slowly eased down another notch.

Dean spoke first. “What we don’t get is how they escaped and why now.”

“Or why they are coming after you guys.” Sam interjected.

“Bobby called right before you arrived. He was able to put together some of the information you gave him, Dawson.” Dean addressed the Watcher.

“You gave them Watcher information?” Duncan asked incredulously.

“Just hang on, Mac. We need all the help we can get. I trust Bobby Singer. He can help us, but he has to have something to work with.”

Duncan glared at his friend and Watcher. Intellectually, he knew Joe was right. And he knew they had asked the guys for help. But something in his gut told him they were treading into dangerous territory. Immortal business stayed secret for a reason. At this rate, none of them were going to survive. And suddenly he thought of Methos’ quick temper and was grateful the ancient had decided not to join them. He was so caught up on that thought that he almost missed what Dean was telling them next.

“What? Repeat that.”

“What I was saying is that it appears all the incidents are occurring around this area of the United States and they may even be maneuvering toward Seacouver.”

“Why?” Duncan asked, still annoyed, but no longer angry as he mulled over this new information.

“We’re not sure.” Sam spoke up. “Bobby thinks they are looking for more powerful quickenings. He thinks the older you guys are and the more immortals you have killed the stronger your quickenings are. Up until now it appeared they had been choosing immortals at random. But looking at the trends, he now thinks they may be collecting in a certain area with a particular target in mind.”

“Seacouver is an immortal hotspot, Mac. Mainly because you live here I might add.”

“But why wouldn’t they come here first and attack me if that’s what they are after? It doesn’t make sense.”

“Yeah, you may be right.” Dean sniffed loudly and leaned back on his elbows. “Unless they think they may be able to draw someone even more powerful than you to the area using you as bait.”

Duncan felt his stomach clench and looked at Joe, unsurprised to see a look of shock cross the other man’s face.

“Joe, Adam.”

Duncan noted Joe reaching for his phone, but he had already hit the speed dial on his own device. Turning to the two mortals, he was already formulating the answer to the questions he knew he would see in their expressions.

“A Watcher friend of mine and Joe’s. He might be able to give us some answers.” They weren’t the only ones who had secrets to keep, Duncan thought smugly.

~~~~~~

Methos finished towel drying his hair, and tossed the damp towel toward the general direction of the hamper on his way out of the bathroom. He paid little attention to where the towel actually landed. Duncan expected him to make a mess and who was he to disappoint?

A hot shower was just what he needed after the long flight from Paris. He had been itching to visit his sometime lover for weeks now, but couldn’t seem to get away from the bookstore. Of all times for him to do a booming business, he mused. But Duncan’s phone call had shaken him. There was something in the story that had niggled at his memory and made him uneasy. That tended to make his choices easier. The bookstore was closed down with a “sorry, will be open again soon” sign on the door and now he was in Seacouver once again enjoying the Highlander’s hospitality – and bed.

If only things weren’t so precarious, he thought uneasily. He had been pouring over his oldest journals feeling there was something in them he needed to know. So far, he had only found the vague mention of something unearthly, of dead immortals who should not have been dead, but there was nothing he could use, dammit.

He sprawled on the couch, his bare feet on the coffee table, and a smug knowing smile on his lips, as he imagined his lover’s irritation once he was discovered. He would have to make it up to the man, after all. That was his job--irritate the man to distraction and then drive him crazy in bed to make it up to him later.

He was so focused on his thoughts, on the anticipated pleasures of his lover’s body, that he almost missed the shadow that floated across his periphery. Almost. Closing his journal and setting it down carefully on the coffee table, he reached for the Ivanhoe and stood. He lifted his sword in a defensive pose and turned slowly, surveying the room with a practiced eye.

A dark shape appeared, hovering only seconds before evaporating as if never been. He felt the hairs stand up on the back of his neck, a chill crawl down his spine, and he shivered against the sense of evil which now seemed to permeate the room.

He walked around the couch into the open space, continuing to turn slowly and looking into every corner and crevice of the room in case the object was hiding or waiting to pounce once he let his guard down. He felt something brush against his arm, just the tiniest movement of something touching his skin, as a soft voice whispered in his ear.

 _“Old one. You are mine.”_

He could not tell if the voice was male or female, the tone too soft and low to hear the words clearly, the soft hiss of the syllables a taunt as he strained to listen.

 _“Old one. Mine.”_

“Who is here?” He sounded overloud in the empty room, his own voice seeming distant and echoing in his ears.

The room filled with stifled laughter and he bristled. “Glad I could amuse you.” There was nothing worse than a smart-assed demon.

As quickly as it appeared, it was gone, and the room suddenly brightened, the gray shadows and chill dissipating as quickly as it had descended. One last look around the room assured him he was quite alone. Placing his sword on the couch by his side, he sat down and picked up his journal with shaky hands. His stomach was queasy and he was almost positive he was going to be ill. Whatever this evil thing was, it was here. Now the one question remained -- was it Duncan the demon was after or was it him?

The cheery tune of Lady Gaga’s “Bad Romance” was almost anti-climactic when it erupted from his cell phone. He started at the noise, took a deep, calming breath and reached for it, vowing as soon as the caller was off the line he was changing that damn ringtone.

~~~~~~

Duncan picked up the phone on the second ring. “MacLeod”.

“It’s me, Mac. Any word on your end?”

“Not a thing, Joe. So far I haven’t seen or heard anything out of the ordinary myself.”

“Good. Not that I mind hearing from you, but the message you left me sounded kinda  
important. I know it’s not just because you missed the melodic sound of my voice.”

“No, smartass. You’ve been around Methos too long.” Ignoring the snort coming from  
the other end of the line he continued. “It’s about Methos actually. He’s been acting  
strangely ever since we went to the motel to talk to Sam and Dean a couple of days  
ago."

“With him how can you tell? Seriously, buddy. What’s going on?”

“I don’t know. It’s nothing I can put my finger on exactly. He's been distracted. Nervous  
one minute and withdrawn the next. Downright distant at times. Our lovemaking has  
become intense to the point of being frantic.”

“TMI, man.”

“What’s the matter, Dawson? I thought you wanted to record this stuff.”

“Yeah, yeah. Anything else?”

“Nothing concrete. He’s just not acting like himself and it’s got me worried.”

“You think this thing is after him?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. But if he thinks I could be in danger he’s not going to confide in me. I’m thinking about calling our friends and seeing if they have anything new.”

“I don’t know, Mac. They said they would call and Methos wouldn’t appreciate it if you blew his cover.”

“Maybe I wouldn’t have to tell them who he is. Just that he’s immortal. I’ll think about it, Joe. I’ll see how he’s acting when he gets back and make a decision then.”

“Wait. He’s not there?”

“No, he went out about an hour ago and I can hear you growling over the line, Joe. It’s not like I can stop him from tearing off on his own. He’s a grown man.”

“Yeah, I know. Keep me in touch, buddy. I think I’ll call the boys just to see how their research is going. I’m getting nothing here.”

“Later, Dawson.”

~~~~~~

Methos pulled his SUV over to the side of the road and put it in park. Looking to make sure there was no traffic heading his way, he opened the door and stepped out to the curb. He was still slightly shaking, the near miss from the semi-truck a little too close for comfort. He would have survived, of course. Well, probably. Unless he was beheaded during the accident. But coming back to life in front of witnesses, either at the scene or in the hospital, was not a good way to end the day.

Besides, it wasn’t the near-wreck that had his nerves frayed. It was the incessant whispering and shadows that moved in and out of his peripheral vision, the nudge of something other-worldly against his skin, the smoke that filled his car and masked his vision, only to clear just seconds before he ran head-on into a semi-truck.

After the incident at the loft two days before, the apparitions had returned at will to haunt him, appearing quickly, taunting him, and then disappearing just as effortlessly. It didn’t help that he knew the end result would be his death and the loss of his quickening. The question now wasn’t how, but when. Because he had no doubt that whatever these creatures were, they were responsible for the deaths of the other immortals.

Up until that moment, they had only appeared when he was alone at the loft. Hoping it  
was somehow connected to the place, and not just himself, he had stayed away as  
much as possible although he knew he was sending Mac warning signals and it was  
just a matter of time before he demanded answers that Methos didn’t have.

Luckily, the trip back to the dojo was uneventful and he made it in record time. The feel of Duncan’s presence alerted him that his lover was still there. He wasn’t sure if he was glad or not. On one hand he was thankful for the company. On the other, he knew Duncan could tell something was wrong and the clan chieftain would be in full battle mode.

Feeling the need to burn off the adrenaline after his near accident he decided to take the stairs instead of the lift. He entered the loft, pointedly ignoring the worried expression on his lover’s face.

“Hey. I’m glad you’re back.”

“Did you doubt?” He stopped by the fridge to get a beer and glanced at Duncan. Seeing the concern on his lover’s face drew out a long suffering sigh. “Bloody hell. Look, Mac. I’m fine. Don’t fuss.”

Duncan followed him over to the couch. “In case you have forgotten, there’s something out there killing immortals without taking their heads. Of course I’m going to worry when you’re out of my sight.”

Methos felt his skin prickle with irritation. It didn’t matter that he knew Mac was right. Whatever this thing was it was his ass on the line and he’d be damned if he was going to let Duncan be put in harm’s way to protect him. He had made the decision years ago that Duncan was too important to lose.

“Back off, Highlander. You can’t protect me and I won’t let you smother me. I know something is out there. We’ll figure it out.”

Duncan sat down across from him. Methos could feel the other man studying him, measuring his emotions and trying to figure out what to do. It irritated and comforted him at the same time.

“MacLeod!”

“Fine.” Mac stood up and paced to the kitchen. “How about an early dinner and we can go to Joe’s and listen to the band.”

“Fine.” Methos picked up his journal and made a point of looking through the entries and ignoring his lover at the same time. There had to be something in the text he was missing. He had a feeling he was running out of time.

~~~~~~

Methos made his way down the congested sidewalk, burning up the distance with long, purposeful strides. He didn’t have a particular destination in mind, only that he had to keep moving. If he had spent another day holed up in Mac’s loft he would have gone completely mad. Not that his current frame of mind was much of an improvement.

Someone bumped into him and he was pretty sure he growled as he stepped away and nearly crashed headlong into someone else. He ignored the expletive the other man sent his way as he shoved past him and disappeared. He was aware the sun was bright and beating down on him as he walked along. He should have been overly warm in his long coat, but instead he was shivering as a shroud of evil seemed to envelope him, pressing on his chest and threatening to cut off his airway.

He put his hands in his coat pockets and drew his coat more tightly around his body, and felt the Ivanhoe pressing against his hip. Normally the feel of his weapon, hard and unforgiving where it was sheltered in its sewn in sheath, would reassure him and give him a sense of power and determination. But that was before this thing started tormenting him.

He no longer felt safe taking his car around town knowing he was endangering innocent lives. So every morning he had set out on foot, escaping the strong arms of his lover and the false safety of the loft, to walk aimlessly through town as he tried to clear his head and shake off the sense of doom hovering over him like a black cloud. Whatever this demon was, it was evil and far more ancient than even himself. Duncan had fought Ahriman using love and tranquility to battle the evil. But Methos had a feeling that would be as ineffective as his Ivanhoe when fighting this thing.

The whispering had been replaced by laughter as Methos found it harder to focus and his nerves frayed more every day. He knew he was unraveling and he didn’t have a clue how to stop it. There had been nothing in his journals to help him. If he ever did know anything he had long forgotten it and did not know it was important enough at the time to keep a record. The two hunters were supposed to be working on the problem, but thus far that had been a bust. Personally, he didn’t have much faith in the two mortals helping them. How could they possibly be able to fight something so evil and old with nothing but their wits and a certain knowledge that demons existed? Duncan said they had never heard of these demons before. Hell, they hadn’t known immortals existed until now. Whoever these *hunters* were, they had better be some type of superheroes or they didn’t have a chance in hell of beating this thing. Literally.

He hadn’t been paying attention and it wasn’t long before he found himself on a more deserted street in an older section of town. The sun was already going down, the brightness of late afternoon fading away to a dreary gray which shadowed the older buildings, making them look worn down and forlorn with their dark windows and chipped paint.

How long had he been walking? A glance at his wristwatch told him it was well after six pm. Duncan would be worried and he reached into his pocket for his cell phone. When had he turned it off, he wondered. He turned his phone back on, unsurprised to see several messages from Duncan. No need to answer them, he mused. A quick look around assured him that he wasn’t that far from the dojo and he knew a few shortcuts that would get him home in short order.

With that in mind he turned into a darkened alley, carefully maneuvering around the debris littering the narrow walkway. The smell of urine and garbage assaulted his senses, and he covered his nose and mouth with his hand to keep the foul odor at bay. Nothing like having the lingering smell of urine leaving a stale taste in your mouth, he thought. Wrapping his coat more tightly around himself, he prepared to leave the enclosed space and sprint down the next street toward home.

Then he stilled, goose bumps rising up over his skin, as he was overcome with the sudden sensation that something or someone was watching him. The odor changed from the familiar smells of human garbage to something much more dark and menacing. He fought against the urge to gag and reached for his sword as he turned sharply to meet his aggressor head on.

He shifted into a defensive pose, his sword gripped tightly in his hand, and peered out into the darkened alleyway. Not seeing anyone there, he shivered against the sudden cold that swept across his skin, and noted at the same time that his palms were sweating. He wiped the dampness from his empty palm onto his jeans, but never relaxed his hold from his Ivanhoe.

“I know you’re there. Show yourself.”

He heard a soft chortle close to his ear followed by a harsh whisper.

 _“Old one.”_

“Damn it. Come out and face me, you bloody coward,” he yelled. He felt movement from his left side and turned quickly, his sword slicing through the air and finding no purchase. Frustrated and angry, he turned sharply, and frantically struck out with his weapon, hoping whoever or whatever the son-of-a-bitch was it would get close enough to get several inches of cold, deadly steel.

Then he felt it, a powerful jolt of something very familiar crawling up his spine -- immortal presence. He gripped his sword tightly with both hands and turned a full one hundred and eighty degrees.

He was suddenly grabbed from behind and slammed up against one of the buildings. He kicked out, preparing to charge the other immortal, when he was punched in the gut and his arm was smashed against the unyielding brick building. His sword fell onto the ground with a sickening clank as he was gripped by the shoulders and shaken.

“Methos? Methos, stop. It’s me.”

He peered into concerned brown eyes as the whine in his ears subsided and his vision began to clear. Macleod? Damn it all to hell. What was the man doing? He could have been killed. Just ask Richie Ryan. Well, if you could. Actually, the stupid child was quite dead. That’s what happens when you run into another immortal’s blade when said immortal is being baited by an evil demon. He giggled, well aware that Macleod would never see the humor in his distorted thought processes.

He was shaken again--hard. A small, pounding headache began to grow behind his eyes.

“Methos, I don’t know what is going on, but let’s go. My car is parked up the street.”

Suddenly Methos was angry again, and he pushed the other man away, fully aware that it wasn’t Mac he was really mad at, but unable to pull back on the extreme emotions he felt bubbling to the surface.

“No, MacLeod. Why are you following me?”

“Following? Methos, I was looking for you because I was worried. You’ve been gone all day and you weren’t answering your phone.”

Duncan sounded genuinely concerned, and perfectly reasonable, which seemed to spike his anger even more. “You were worried. Well, guess what, Highlander? I don’t need to be coddled by you. I’ve been taking care of myself for centuries before you came along.”

He shoved away from the wall and picked up his sword. Holding it out in front of him in a clear warning he backed slowly out of the alley. “Stay away, Mac. I will hurt you.”

“Methos.” Duncan took a cautious step toward him.

Methos contemplated running the man through, but something about the worry in Duncan’s face unnerved him and he felt his anger begin to diffuse. Weary, but determined, he dropped his arm to his side and turned away. “I’m outta here.”

In an instant he was grabbed from behind and slammed back up against the building. “No, you’re not outta here.” He was pulled away by his coat lapels and slammed back hard. “Talk to me, dammit.” Mac said roughly.

“No!” Methos spit the word out on a breath, flung his sword to the ground and slammed his fist into Duncan’s jaw, feeling a smug sense of satisfaction when he heard bone crack. Unfortunately, his triumph was short lived as Mac’s fist found his mouth in return and he was gagging on blood and saliva.

A knee to Mac’s groin released him and he used the opportunity to run, well aware that he had not retrieved his sword and not caring. Soon enough he would be back on the street and Mac wouldn’t dare confront him in front of an audience.

But before he could get to the street he was tackled, landing face down in the dirt and gravel. He felt the sharp rocks tear into his skin and closed his eyes tightly, determined not to cry out as his arm was twisted unnaturally behind him and a knee was shoved hard into the small of his back.

“Would you listen to me?” Duncan sounded winded as he fought to hold Methos down. “I don’t know what is going on, but I’m here to help you. Whatever this is, we can fight it together. Don’t do this, Methos.”

“Duncan.” Methos wasn’t sure why, but suddenly the tightness around his chest gave way and he stopped struggling. The hold on his arm loosened slightly easing the sharp pain in his shoulder. He took a deep breath and felt tears dampen his lids. Bloody hell!

Duncan released the knee from his back and strong arms were turning him over. “Let me help you.”

“I can’t. It will come after you.” The words were coming easier now and he fought back the tears, fearing they would break loose as a week’s worth of fear and torment bore down on him all at once.

“Not if we fight this thing together.”

Methos sat up, batting Duncan’s hands away as he reached out to help him. “I’m fine, Mac. Give me a minute.”

Duncan stood up and backed away for which he was grateful. Letting the man see him this fearful and unhinged was not acceptable. He took a deep, shuddering breath and fought to pull himself together. His shoulder and back still ached although the small cuts and abrasions on his face had already healed. Leaning over, he spit out the dirt and grit which had accumulated in his mouth when he was slammed face down.

Standing up on shaky legs, he bent over and retrieved his sword. “I believe you said you were parked nearby?”

“Yeah. Come on.” Duncan reached out to him, but dropped his arm and stepped back when Methos jerked away roughly from his touch. Methos heard the deep sigh behind him and felt a twinge of guilt, but right now he was too unsettled to accept Duncan’s need to care for him. He just hoped Duncan would understand and give him some space until he could pull himself together and sort out his thoughts.

~~~~~~

Duncan pulled up the gate with one hand, holding onto Methos’ arm with the other. The man was practically dead on his feet and he wondered how much sleep he had been really getting lately. Their fight had been harrowing, but immortal healing should have kicked in well before now.

He pulled off their coats, hanging them up haphazardly on the coat rack, and then pushed Methos toward the bathroom. It worried him slightly when Methos didn’t protest as he was undressed, his filthy clothing tossed into the hamper to be dealt with later. It was even more disturbing when he stood silently by while Duncan undressed and turned on the water to heat up.

They were both a mess with dried blood and spit splattered across their faces along with the dirt and grime from the garbage littered alley. Duncan looked into Methos eyes, noting the pupils were dilated almost black. Gently pushing a lock of hair from Methos’ forehead he said his name softly, frowning when he got no response.

After they had left the alley Methos had remained quiet, refusing to look at or talk to him on the trip back home. Duncan could feel him withdrawing, emotionally pulling himself in, and sheltering himself against the coming turmoil. He could understand the old man needing some down time and was thankful Methos trusted him enough to keep him safe while he took the time to rest and heal. But he hoped it wouldn’t be long before his lover pulled himself together and told him what the hell had been going on. Right now they needed him functioning and strong if they were going to beat this thing.

God, he had been so frightened when he couldn’t reach Methos all day. He had driven around town for hours, relieved when he finally felt an immortal signature coming from the vicinity of the alley as he drove down an older part of the city. He had parked his car and run toward the buzz not thinking until later what he would have done if the signature had not belonged to Methos. Once he got to the alley, he had stopped cold, almost pissing himself at the sight of his lover, his sword out and seemingly fighting something Duncan could not see.

He pushed Methos under the hot spray, and then adjusted the shower head to wet himself. Lathering up his hands, he began to gently wash the grime from Methos’ body, first working down his back and legs, then turning him to work on his front. He massaged and cleaned with sure hands, relieved when Methos closed his eyes and sighed softly as the tension worked out of his body. Soon his breathing quickened and his cock was hardening under Duncan’s knowing touch.

“Methos.” Duncan whispered his name, desire making his voice sound gruff and needy.

Methos opened his eyes, his pupils still dilated, but now there was recognition in the hazel green depths. Duncan dared a kiss, just a gentle touch of lips on lips. Methos opened his mouth and Duncan took the opportunity to gently nudge his tongue into the familiar oral haven. He deepened the kiss, loving the slide of Methos’ tongue against his own as Methos pulled him closer and long fingers tangled in his hair.

Even immortals had to breathe and they ended their kiss, pulling apart slowly to pant for air. Methos wrapped his arms around Duncan’s waist and dropped his head to Duncan’s shoulder, nipping at his skin before dropping light kisses along his shoulder and collar bone.

Reaching down between their bodies, Duncan gripped Methos’ cock and began to stroke. Methos was now kissing and sucking the tender skin on Duncan’s throat, his hips thrusting and jerking in time to Duncan’s touch. Duncan pressed his cock against Methos’ muscled thigh and began to thrust while continuing his steady strokes on his lover’s pulsing and heated flesh. One thrust, another, and he felt Methos’ hand wrap around him, strongly pumping him toward completion.

They were kissing again, their lips and tongues as hungry and frantic as their aroused cocks. Hot water bore down on their bodies as they moaned and stroked, their labored breaths echoing in the closed off shower stall. It wasn’t long before Duncan felt his pleasure peak, felt his lover still in his arms as his own muscles tensed for release and they were both coming, their semen washing down the drain with the last remnants of soap and water.

Now warm and safe, Duncan held Methos in his arms and watched him sleep. This week had been harrowing as Duncan saw his worst fears born out as his friend and lover was attacked by demons so evil that hell held a special place for them. He understood why Methos was paranoid about anyone finding out who he was. But they were running out of time and something had to be done before the demons took his lover’s quickening. With that in mind, he slid into slumber, assuring himself that he would talk Methos into confiding in Dean and Sam tomorrow.

~~~~~~

Sam stood outside Starbucks, his cup of coffee still warm in his hand, as he waited for his brother to pick him up. It wasn’t long before he spotted the Impala swerving around the corner before coming to an abrupt stop in front of the store. Dean got out and slammed the door, signaling his bad mood to anyone who might have the misfortune to cross him.

Dean approached him and inclined his head toward Sam’s cup of coffee. “That for me?”

Sam shook his head. “I wasn’t sure how long it would take you to get here. Come on. Get something and I’ll catch you up.”

Sam found a small table in the back of the dimly lit Starbucks and sat down to wait while Dean purchased his drink. He cocked his eyebrow in surprise when Dean joined him a few minutes later with a tall latte in hand.

“What? It was Lisa’s favorite and she got me hooked, okay?”

“Hey, I didn’t say a word.” Sam smirked, well aware it would annoy his brother further and not caring.

“Yeah, but you were thinking it.” Dean looked around to make sure no one was in listening distance. Satisfied, he continued. “I talked to Dawson.”

“And?” Sam prodded when Dean stalled to sip his coffee.

“Nothing we can use. I don’t know what’s going on with these guys, but he was fine as long as we were talking about MacLeod. The minute I mentioned the other guy, Pierson, he clammed up. And he sure wasn’t about to let me look at his files.”

Sam thought about that for a moment. “Do you think we can break in and get a look at them?”

“No way. He’s suspicious now. He’s not going to leave them unguarded. What about you? Find out anything?”

“Not really. After they went back to the dojo last night, they haven’t been back out. I think it’s safe to say that ‘a’ Pierson is an immortal and ‘b’ he and MacLeod are lovers.”

“Yeah, after that little display last night in the alley, I’d have to agree with you. But you left out ‘c’. The demons are after Pierson’s quickening. The EMF reader goes haywire every time we get close to the guy.”

“I agree. But what I don’t get is why they haven’t come to us and let us know what’s going on. Joe called Bobby and asked for our help. Now they’re so closed off you’d think we were the enemy.”

“I don’t know either, Sammy. But I’d almost bet the farm there’s something about Pierson they don’t want us to know.” He turned up his coffee cup and took a final swallow before crushing the empty container in his hand. “And I think it’s damn time we found out what it is. Let’s go.”

Sam tossed his empty cup in the garbage behind Dean’s. “Where to?”

“The dojo. They can tell us what the hell’s going on or we can hit the road, but I’m getting tired of our asses being stone-walled by these people.”

~~~~~~

Duncan turned toward the lift as it screeched to a grinding halt. Behind him, he was aware Methos had slid his sword under the couch within easy reach, and was now standing to await their arrivals.

It had been an emotional morning as he had seemingly just spent the past two hours wasting his breath trying to convince Methos to tell the hunters what had been going on. Not that Methos was adverse to telling the guys about the events of the past week. But he absolutely refused to tell them who he was or why his quickening was so valuable.

He lifted the gate and stood back to let them in, but before he could speak, Dean rounded on him angrily.

“Look, I don’t care about your personal shit, but we’re trying to help you so I think it’s time you come clean and tell us what the hell is going on!”

“Dean….” Sam eased toward his brother and placed a hand on his shoulder. Dean shrugged it off angrily.

Duncan could feel Methos bristling from all the way across the room. Turning, he wasn’t surprised to see his lover assessing the two hunters with narrowed eyes, his expression stone-faced and unrelenting.

“Why should we tell you anything?” Methos asked Dean coldly.

Obviously unaware of the danger he was facing, Dean approached the older immortal and yelled in his face. “Hell, I don’t know. Maybe because you’re an immortal and maybe because demons you can’t see or feel are coming after your ass. And just maybe because if we don’t help you you’re going to die.”

“Is that so, Mr….?”

Duncan, who was becoming increasingly angry at the hunter’s tone, quickly stepped between the two men and roughly pushed Dean away. “That’s enough. Back off!”

“Dean, it’s okay, man.” Sam grabbed his brother’s arm to steady him.

It appeared to Duncan that Dean was having trouble getting his temper under control, but a few angry breaths later and both Dean and Sam were stepping back a few paces to give them space.

Duncan turned to his lover and placed a hand to the small of his back to calm him. Speaking to him quietly in Gaelic, he said, “Adam, look, I don’t like this, but he’s right. You have to tell them.” He willed himself to wait and give the other man a moment to get his anger in check. If he couldn’t and Duncan felt the mortal’s lives were in imminent jeopardy, he was close enough to stop Methos and give the guys time to escape.

Across the room he noticed Sam was within grabbing distance of his angry sibling and looked prepared to step in if need be. He was talking to him quietly and Duncan only hoped everyone could calm down long enough for them to act like adults and talk.

Several uncomfortable minutes passed until Sam and Dean approached them again. Duncan felt Methos tense under his hand.

“Look, I’m sorry. But Dawson called us and asked for help.” Dean paused and looked to Sam for support. A nod of Sam’s head and he continued. “We’re just trying to help you. It’s obvious the demons are after you. I mean….” He paused again and licked his lips. “After what happened last night.”

“You’ve been watching us?” Duncan asked incredulously.

“Yeah. What did you expect? We don’t know what the hell is going on.” Sam explained in a reasonable tone. “Dawson’s clammed up. You’re not giving us anything. How did you think we were going to fight these damn things when no one wants to tell us anything?”

Dean snorted, and looked upwards toward the ceiling, his voice rising in volume to address the ether. “And Cas is AWOL. Thanks a lot, Cas, for being here when we need you.”

“Look, Dean.” Sam interjected. “Cas probably doesn’t know any more than we do.”

Duncan turned to Methos. “Adam?” he said gently.

A terse moment, and then the other man figuratively threw his hands up in the air. “Fine,” he spat out angrily and plopped down on the couch.

Duncan stared after him, noting the sour look, but relatively sure Methos was no longer homicidal.

He motioned for everyone to sit down. “I’ll tell you everything I know.”

“I need a beer.” Methos jumped up and went to the refrigerator.

“I could use one of those too,” Dean said over his shoulder and grinned.

Once everyone was settled with their respective beers, Duncan shot a look at Methos who nodded his head minutely, giving him permission to continue. Duncan told them everything he had witnessed over the last week, with Methos jumping in periodically to fill in the holes or clarify a point when needed.

Once they had finished, all four men fell into a comfortable silence, each mulling over the information and sipping on the beers.

“Hello, Methos.” A quiet, monotone voice came from the other side of the room and all four men jumped, startled.

Duncan and Methos reacted immediately, pushing off the couch and retrieving their swords. Duncan didn’t need to see his lover’s face to know how cold and unyielding his expression was at the moment, his eyes narrowed as he assessed the threat level on the other side of the room.

“Who are you? You don’t know me.” Methos advanced threateningly toward the newcomer.

“I know you, Methos.”

Duncan watched with trepidation as each man advanced on the other, the newcomer calm and unfazed, his arms held carefully at his sides. The other man was quite ordinary looking, Duncan thought. He appeared to be only in his mid-thirties, with brown hair and light eyes, wearing a well-worn suit and tan coat. He certainly did not seem to be frightened of the man who was now pointing his very big and sharp weapon at his throat. He was either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid, Duncan surmised.

“Now you show up? We’ve been calling you for days, Cas” Dean said from behind them, sounding both annoyed and incredulous at the same time.

“You know one another?” Duncan asked, glaring at the stranger in disbelief when he neatly stepped around Methos to answer Dean.

“I’ve been a bit busy, Dean. We’re fighting a war. I had to find out who helped set the demons free.”

“And?”

“Crowley.”

“Sonovabitch. Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

Glaring at the other occupants in the room, Methos lowered his sword and crossed his arms across his chest. “This is all very interesting, but I believe you were about to explain how you know me.”

The man they called Castiel turned back toward Methos, giving Duncan an appraising look as he walked around him. “You don’t remember, do you?”

“Remember?” Duncan asked before his lover could respond.

“Methos, you do know me and you have seen this before. But at the time you were too young. They had no interest in your quickening. They were after your teacher. You helped me send them back to hell then.”

“I do not remember.” Methos glanced at Duncan uncertainly.

“You will. Close your eyes. Trust me.” Castiel reached out and placed three fingers against Methos’ right temple. After only moments he stepped back and waited for the other man to open his eyes.

“Castiel?” This time Methos’ words seemed more tentative, and Duncan felt the tension in his gut ease up slightly.

“Yes. New vessel. It was necessary that I return to Earth. It’s been a long time.”

“Adam….” Duncan approached them cautiously.

The last of Methos’ anger appeared to have dissipated, and he eased over to the coffee table and laid down his sword. “It’s okay, Mac. You can put that away. This is an old friend of mine. Castiel, meet Duncan MacLeod.”

“Of the clan MacLeod. Yes, I know of you.”

Duncan laid his katana beside Methos’ Ivanhoe on the coffee table and held out his hand, dropping it back to his side when the other man simply looked at him with an unwavering gaze, and never offered his hand in return.

“Where did you come from?” Duncan asked in astonishment.

“Heaven.” Methos snickered.

“Stop being an ass, Adam.”

“He’s not wrong,” Dean said from behind them. Duncan had almost forgotten Sam and Dean were in the room.

“Mac, Castiel is really an angel. We’ve known one another for millennia.”

“Millennia?” That was Sam this time. Duncan glanced at the mortals, noticing with amusement that they looked shell-shocked.

“Five thousand years, actually.” Castiel addressed Sam as if he had been reading their thoughts. “I knew Methos when he was a new immortal.”

“Why are you here, Castiel? What do you have to do with these demons? And why now?”

“You know why, Methos. If they get enough immortal quickenings we won’t be able to stop them. Crowley will be able to use them to harvest an inconceivable amount of souls. You know what to do. You have the old knowledge. You must use it to help me force them back into hell.”

Duncan placed his hand on Methos’ shoulder. “Can you do it?”

“Maybe. It will be difficult to find everything we need. Some of the ingredients are more ancient than I am. Castiel….” Methos turned around to address the angel, only to find he’d already gone.

“What the hell?” Duncan asked, shocked.

“It’s okay, Mac.” Methos followed Duncan back to the living room area. “He does that. It’s okay. I remember now and I know what we must do.”

“Well, good. Maybe you can tell us what the hell is going on then,” Dean stated tartly.

“Castiel was right. These demons are very old and very powerful. Lucifer has been able to keep them locked up for over five thousand years, but somehow, with the help of another powerful demon, they have managed to escape.”

“You know Lucifer?” With embarrassment, Duncan realized his voice squeaked.

“We do,” Sam muttered under his breath and Dean snickered.

Methos and MacLeod ignored them.

“As I was saying, somehow they escaped. They feed off souls. It gives them their power. Somehow they found out about immortals and figured out that an immortal’s quickening was the equivalent to taking hundreds, and possibly thousands of souls at once. Unimaginable power was available to them. They just had to figure out a way to get to the quickenings in order to absorb them.”

Duncan shook his head as the pieces started coming together. “They’ve been wreaking havoc with you for the last week. I noticed last night that the more unsteady and unraveled you became mentally and emotionally, the more strained your quickening felt. They were weakening the hold you have over your own quickening in order to find a way to get in and draw your power out.”

“Bright boy.” Methos grinned.

Dean rolled his eyes. “Yeah, that’s just great, but how do we fight these bastards and get their red-headed step-children asses back to hell?”

“Red headed step-children?” Duncan questioned, trying to place the euphemism.

“I like it. Actually,” Methos chortled, “it’s rather accurate. Even demons look down on these guys. They’re nasty and gluttonous. Once they take your soul, your body breaks down almost immediately and begins to age and degenerate.”

“Hey, man. Can you imagine what you would look like if they took your soul?” Dean laughed, sobering immediately when Duncan and Methos glared at him. “Well, I mean, five thousand years.” He cleared his throat nervously. “Never mind.”

“As Dean said, how do we fight them?” Sam asked, clearly trying not to smile at his brother’s gaff.

“It’s rather easy, actually. I can’t believe I missed it when I was going over my journals. There is a spell–an incantation--I can use that will strengthen my quickening and they won’t be able to get in. But it will piss them off and they will try harder than ever to break me. It’s going to be tough, but I believe I can do it.”

“I will be there with you. Together we can fight them off,” Duncan stated with determination.

“No, Mac. I have to do this alone. Remember Ahriman?”

Duncan nodded. He remembered Ahriman a little too clearly. Richie….

“It’s here.” Methos touched his head and then the area over his heart. “And here. Besides, I need you and the guys to be doing something else while I have all their attention focused on me.”

“What exactly are we supposed to be doing while you’re meditating?”

“We’ll need a multitude of things: chalk, candles, weapons. A hibachi should work. I’ll make a list. Finding the right herbs and powders might be a bit more difficult, but Castiel should be able to get them for us. You two,” he pointed to Sam and Dean, “will be casting a spell which will make them corporal. Then you,” he turned toward MacLeod, “will set them on fire and send them straight back to hell.”

Dean sat back with a clear sense of relief. “It’s midnight and time to leave the ball, girls.”

“When do we do it?” Sam looked from one man to the next.

Methos shrugged. “ As soon as possible. First we have to get a hold of Castiel to see about getting all the ingredients for the spell.”

“I think we can handle that,” Dean smirked. He looked up and yelled out, “Cas!”

~~~~~~

“Testing. One, two. Okay, everything is in place,” Joe assured them as he checked the auditory and visual devices one last time. “We’ve got reception with Sam and Dean at the motel. Mac, you should be able to hear everything going on here in the loft from the dojo. You also have feed with Sam and Dean. I’ll be in the parking garage across the street in case either of you need backup.”

“Thanks, Joe.” He turned toward Methos who was arranging a carefully placed circle of salt and herbs in the recently drawn pentagram on Duncan’s refurbished hardwood floors. “Methos, are you sure I should be down in the dojo for this? Too many things could go wrong. I’d feel better if I were in the loft with you.”

Methos surveyed his work one last time and, satisfied, turned to address his lover’s concerns. “Mac… ” He walked over to Duncan and cupped his face with his hand. “Duncan, I can’t have any distractions while I am mediating. I’ve got to stay focused if I am going to keep my power strong enough so they can’t get in. Stay close. By all means, the minute you hear anything threatening, charge up on your white stallion and rescue me. Feel free to be my hero and champion.”

“Ha, ha.”

Methos grinned when Joe rolled his eyes behind Duncan’s back.

“Okay, you two. Shall we get this show on the road?”

“Getting antsy, Dawson?”

“Just sick of you two making goo-goo eyes at one another.”

An electrical crackle came over the wire followed by Dean’s voice. “Hey, thanks for the visual guys. But Joe’s right. It’s time to kick these bastards straight back to hell.”

~~~~~~

Sam squatted down beside their homemade altar and rearranged the candles to match the picture Cas had sketched for them. “Does this look right, Dean?”

His brother leaned over him and studied the drawing. “Yeah. As close as we can get anyway. Better double check the pentagram, but I think we’re good to go. Let’s hope this thing works, dude.”

“I guess we’ll find out soon enough.” Sam stood and replaced the sketch on the nightstand, turning it over to display an intricately drawn picture of a pentagram. He glanced at his brother who was now sprawled back in one of the chairs. Despite his posture, Sam knew Dean, and he was anything but relaxed.

Dean had been acting strangely ever since Sam had his soul returned. The best way Sam could describe Dean’s behavior was cagey and defensive–constantly watching and questioning everything Sam did or said. It was making him nervous as hell. As if he didn’t have enough to worry about. More and more things were turning up about the year when he didn’t have a soul. Something told him deep down that Dean knew more about it than he was letting on. But getting his brother to open up was simply not going to happen. Dean Winchester was one of the most stubborn men born on the face of the earth.

The irony was not lost on him that now they were fighting demons that could steal his soul. The immortals immediately aged and died since their souls were tied to their quickenings. But what about him? Would he simply die or would he be forced to live once again without feelings or a conscience?

Dawson’s voice came over the transmitter, interrupting his thoughts, and Dean got up to answer, assuring him they were ready for the go-ahead. With a nod, Sam sat down and lit the fire in the hibachi as Dean began lighting the candles. Satisfied they were ready Dean picked up his double-barreled shotgun, already loaded with rock salt, and prepared to stand guard.

~~~~~~

Duncan paced the polished floor of the dojo. He could hear Methos upstairs in the loft preparing to begin the ritual. He tested his equipment one last time, getting an affirmative from Joe across the street and Dean at the motel. Methos had insisted he didn’t want audio from anyone else as he didn’t want any distractions during his part of the ritual. Since Methos’ life depended on him being able to stay focused and keep the demons from finding a weak link in his quickening, Duncan had to agree. But he didn’t like not being able to contact his lover, even if he was still able to hear everything from Methos’ end.

He looked around and catalogued his weaponry: swords, salt, an axe and a blow torch. The angel had been sure once Dean and Sam made the demons corporal he would be able to set them on fire, thus sending them back to their hellish prison. He hoped he was right, but he wasn’t taking any chances with Methos’ life.

He turned out the lights and stood guard at the stairwell, preparing to ascend the instance the demons appeared. Too many things could go wrong with the lift and the demons might even be able to destroy the electrical current giving him access to the loft. They might be able to block the doors, but that’s why he had the axe ready.

He could hear Methos beginning the chant that would put him into a meditative state. Although he couldn’t smell the odor of the herbs Methos was burning in the urns, he knew he must have had them lit by now. An all clear from Joe, who was the point man synchronizing both teams, informed him Sam and Dean had started their ritual as well.

Picking up the blow torch and axe, he opened the first floor door leading to the stairwell, and waited. He could now smell the rancorous odor from some of the herbs as it drifted down the stairwell. His palms were damp and he felt a fine trickle of sweat down his back. Taking a deep breath, he willed himself to wait--to not blow it by rushing in before the demons were turned into an entity he could fight–and kill.

~~~~~~

Sam sat cross-legged inside the circle of the carefully constructed pentagram and began citing the precisely written incantation. Candles were lit around the darkened room, the small flames licking shadows across the walls while the fire in the hibachi popped and crackled with building intensity.

Sam was chanting now, a slow and melodious flow of words, as he flicked ancient herbs and powder into the living flame. Dean was standing by, his senses fine-tuned to every nuance as he guarded his brother’s back. He watched, mesmerized, as the flame rose and hissed angrily as it was fed.

Slowly, he began to sense a change in his surroundings as the shadows danced and swirled, and the walls seemed to turn to cold, wet stone. The atmosphere became heavy and dank around him, and he could smell the musty tang of peat moss and damp earth as a chill wrapped around and clung to his skin.

Frantically, he searched for Sam, who now appeared through a vacuum, his words becoming distant and faint as he continued to chant. “Sammy,” he yelled, and heard his own voice echo off the tunneled walls that led to his brother. He felt a surge of panic, and reached out as the walls began to close in, and a feeling of doom pressed heavily on his chest.

Tensing, he lifted his shotgun and took aim, ready to fight or blow the son-of-a-bitches back to hell, when a great gust of wind shoved him back against the stone wall and his gun was ripped out of his hands. Angry voices mocked him, and he cursed and swung around blindly, only to find himself slammed back against the wall once again. Pain exploded behind his eyes, and harsh laughter followed him into darkness….

~~~~~~

Methos felt himself drift into another realm, one without shape or being. The smell of the herbs wafted around him, cloaking his senses against all other stimuli. He knew he was not alone, but he was protected against all others in this place. He continued to meditate, chanting the words of the old ones as a gust of wind swirled around him, and he was pelted with slime and venom.

Ignoring the noxious odor now permeating the room, he continued to chant, his eyes closed tightly although he was somehow aware there was a bright light surrounding his body. The demons screamed in outrage as the light grew brighter, a rainbow of colors in concentrated bands that swirled around his body to protect his essence. They continued to screech, their wails of hatred and denial piercing the walls of the loft, as they stepped up their attack and could not find purchase.

Methos began to levitate from the floor, his body alight with electrical energy as the arc around his body began to explode, sending charges of power throughout the room.

~~~~~~

Duncan rushed up the stairs, glad he had the axe when the door to the loft would not open. He didn’t waste any time crashing against it with his weight knowing it would be useless. Instead, he chopped it apart and rushed in, stopping suddenly in his tracks when he was faced with his lover floating off the floor and his loft being annihilated by a quickening.

Suddenly, forms began to take shape, swooping around Methos and the altar, their human faces worn like a mask, hideous and distorted in rage. They were spewing thick, dark sputum at Methos’ body, the odor making Duncan retch as he jerked off his shirt and used it to cover his nose and mouth. The sputum was bouncing off the circle of multi-colored lights that protected Methos’ body. That seemed to outrage the demons even more as they flapped their hairy wings and tried to bite their way through Methos’ quickening with long, razor sharp teeth.

Throwing the axe out of his way, he picked up the blowtorch, turned it on and rushed headlong into the fray.

~~~~~~

Methos twisted the cap off his beer and brought the bottle to his lips, the slightly bitter liquid sliding down his throat like a balm. Sam and Dean had stopped by to let them know they were heading off to another job. Methos felt it was only right that they take a journey to Joe’s for a final drink before they left. He toasted the air with his bottle. “One for the good guys.”

“To be honest, I wasn’t sure it was going to work.” Dean stated matter-of-factly after returning the salute.

“Now you tell us,” Duncan grinned.

“Yeah, well. I’m just glad it did.” Sam slid his empty bottle onto the bar. “Man, we’d better get going. I told Bobby we’d be at his place by this time tomorrow.”

“I guess you’re right. Catch you guys later.” Dean reached out to shake their hands. A nod from Sam and they left the bar. A couple of minutes later Methos heard the Impala’s departure from the parking lot.

He looked over at Duncan, noticing the lines of strain around the man’s eyes, and the tightness that still tugged at his mouth when he didn’t think Methos was watching him. Methos wasn’t sure what had happened during the ritual. It was all rather vague. But when he came to, his lover was laid out on the loft’s floor, unconscious, his naked chest covered with dried blood.

The loft was all but destroyed with most of Duncan’s cherished possessions crushed and lying in ruin. The odor of something long dead still lingered even after the place had been cleaned and fumigated. Duncan would not tell him all that he witnessed, only that Methos’ was protected by his quickening energy which Duncan described as a powerful circle of brightly colored light.

As it happened, he had forgotten much in his long life. If he was lucky this would be one more thing held locked away in his subconscious for all time. In the meantime, he worried about the shadows he saw in Duncan’s eyes and knew he had to do everything possible to heal this man and take away the memories of that terrible night.

Joe had already retired to his office to catch up on the paperwork he had abandoned for much too long. Methos started to snatch another beer, and then changed his mind. He turned to his lover instead. “Ready to go? I have a lovely hotel room with a Jacuzzi waiting for us at the Hilton.”

Duncan put down his half empty beer bottle and grabbed his coat from the back of the chair. “Add on dinner and a massage and you’re on, old man.”

Methos pulled on his coat and led the way. He could do that.

Finis


End file.
